


Crawl

by nothingwrongwiththerain



Series: Run/Walk/Crawl... [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s, Bar Fight, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I am so sorry, I wasnt sure where this was going I didnt mean to tease, M/M, Nightmares, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Scared Steve, There is no sex, happy ending to my little series, scared Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 21:14:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1579748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingwrongwiththerain/pseuds/nothingwrongwiththerain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every once and a while, Bucky drags Steve out to a bar. These things rarely end well. Some nights are worse than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crawl

On the narrow, time worn street of New York, the cold sunlight beat down on pedestrians hustling along the grey sidewalks. March arrived with nightly rain and a cruel gusting wind that pushed soaked refuse around. Cars passed between dreary buildings leaning together with the weight of a tired economy and harried tenants. 

Steve didn’t want to go out. Outside of their apartment wasn’t pleasant, mingling with people he met once or twice and had nothing in common with was a nagging reminder of one more thing he wasn’t good at. The apartment was safe, a reprieve from a pretend life he grudgingly maintained. While Steve was loath to vocalize his discomfort beyond the occasional grumble, forced conversation with strangers left a tightness in his chest unrelated to his health problems. A reminder, another uneasy assurance that without Bucky, he’d be well and truly alone. 

Winter was chased away by these freezing, irregular gusts, and with it Steve’s chronic colds. Just another seasonal memory to bury with the others; one less excuse to stay home, wrapped up in blankets with a sketchpad. Head bent against the elements, Steve followed Bucky, hunched over. Men passing held firmly to their hats, the few ladies out had a firm grip on their skirt hems. 

“Come on Steve, hurry up” Bucky said, checking over his shoulder to make sure Steve hadn’t been blown away. He smirked at the smaller man as the wind rippled his jacket, wreaking havoc on his hair. Steve could read the sympathy and exasperation on Bucky’s face. Bucky knew better than to imagine Steve would have a good time, but his string of excuses was running thin. Having a roommate was a great way to excuse himself from an excess of female attention – but only if he had a roommate to prove it. 

The establishment they turned in to was loud, people pressed together at tables, conversations nearly drowning out the chime of the piano. Bucky shouldered his way through, towards the bar obscured by a line of suits and bright dresses. 

Jostled by clumps of chatty women and rowdy men, Steve’s lack of enthusiasm drove him up against a wall as Bucky was pushed out of sight. The wall felt somewhat safer as Steve swallowed a sigh and glanced around wearily. He could just pick up on Bucky’s laugh over the din. Sounded forced. Steve was used to Bucky’s low chuckle when Steve ambushed him on the couch, the times they couldn’t get their clothes off fast enough. Belts got stuck, buttons were incredibly, aggravatingly difficult to find with Bucky’s tongue parting his lips, hands in his hair– 

“Excuse me”   
Steve snapped his head up. Staring unfocused at the crowd, he’d missed the approaching brunette. She was pretty enough, he supposed, short hair clipped up, wide pale eyes. 

“Are you Steve?”

“Uh, yah” Self-conscious, Steve ran a hand through his hair. 

“My names Ruth” she said, passing her drink from one manicured hand to the other. Steve blinked, unsure how to respond. 

“Your friend said you’re an artist,” she continued, nodding towards the bar. 

 

-

 

Over the mess of people and haze of cigarette smoke, Bucky raised his glass in Steve’s direction. Leaning against the polished hardwood, Bucky turned back his latest distraction, a curvy platinum blonde, nearly as tall as he was in her heels. He’d lost her name already, started with a ‘K’ or a ‘J’ or something. Whatever her name was, she was already eyeing him shamelessly, hungrily. 

“Must be hard, working in a ship yard all day,” she said. Her voice was thick; Bucky could smell the alcohol on her breath. 

“You met Danny?” Bucky asked, clapping his friend from the shipyard on the back. Unfortunately, Danny was too engrossed relating last night’s exploits to another two men to take notice. 

“No” she said lazily, pursing her candy apple red lips “And I’d rather not,” she added under her breath, leaning in. 

Bucky tossed back another swallow of his drink, grateful and irritated for the constant attention. Kept him busy. 

“I suppose you can tell what you want,” he said, grinning. 

“Don’t you know it” she was close now, tipping her hips till she was leaning half her weight on him. If Bucky wanted, he could have looked right down the neckline of her powder blue dress. Not an opportunity he cared to act on. 

“Wanna dance?” he asked, catching the hand she was snaking towards his collar “I could dance.” 

Bucky led her towards a break in the crowd. The piano music swelled as they approached the coordinated couples swinging around. The jangling of keys matched the tapping of feet, swirling of skirts. Glancing over to the far wall, Bucky was surprised to see Steve hadn’t managed to scare off the brunette. The faintest flicker of resentment crawled down his spine, Bucky looked away. 

“What was your name again?” Bucky said, putting a hand on the blonde’s waist. 

“Molly” she said, already determined on invading his personal space, despite how the jazzy tempo was picking up. 

“Right” Bucky said, suddenly resolving to plan a dignified escape. Molly, if that was her real name, wouldn’t last the evening. She was clingy and intent and there had to be some other girl, a nice girl, who he could flirt at without this obvious end game. Maybe he could stay out on the dance floor until Molly got tired; the amount of alcohol he’d seen her down was enough to make most ladies unsteady wobbly. 

 

CRASH

 

Glass shattered with remarkable force. The music halted jarringly. Towards the bar, a shriek split the air. People swiveled in unison, drawn towards the source of commotion. Bucky pushed Molly off him, moving purposefully. The sounds of struggling increased, the bartender was already shouting for the fight to be taken outside. 

Bucky struggled to part the crowd, tensing up. Not again. Steve had to stop; he couldn’t go around playing hero every single day. Somebody snagged Bucky’s arm. He turned, prepared to snarl a warning and found himself face to face with Steve. Bucky’s shoulders sagged, embarrassingly relieved that this one time, Steve wasn’t the target of abuse. 

A table was overturned, the crowd spilled back and Bucky and Steve jolted apart as a pair of men came tumbling down between them, landing at their feet. Bucky ended up tripping back into the wall of people, caught by a few helpful hands. Steve was pushed up against another table, bending backwards to avoid the tangle of failing limbs. 

The men were roughly the same size, jackets straining as they grabbed at each other, faces red with alcohol and exertion. Neither was having particular success gaining the upper hand. One had his hand yanking at the others hair; the man yelled and lashed out, kicking wildly. Despite their uncoordinated, furious attempts at harm, on the ground the fight posed less of a threat. 

Some men, Bucky included, rushed forward to pull them apart. A few seconds later and the combatants were on their feet, breathing labored. Those gathered around murmured, shifting nervously for a better view. The bartender was practically howling, gesturing angrily and listing off property damages. 

Glowering, the men shrugged of the restraining hands; Bucky backed away with the others, palms up. The worst seemed to have passed. People were turning back to their drinks, sending sidelong glances over their shoulders. Steve happened to be watching when the man closet to him reached for the small of his back, pulled at a dark gleam of metal from his waistband. 

Steve didn’t stop to consider anything. There was a gun, pointed towards people, pointed near Bucky. There wasn’t anything to think about besides lunging forward. Bucky was standing directly in front of Steve, watched the split second action play out. Before Bucky could react, Steve had forced the gunman’s hands down. From two feet away, the first blast was deafening. The crowd reacted violently, recoiling from the shot. Bucky stumbled, losing sight of Steve in the melee. 

Steve couldn’t wrench the gun free with his first pull. The bullet that embedded itself next to his shoe motivated him to drop his weight, tipping the gunman over. The gun clattered to the floor. On the ground, Steve twisted out of reach, scrabbling to get his hands under him. All around him, pairs of feet were rushing by; next to him the man was floundering, fingers stretching towards the barrel. Crawling forward, Steve made a grab for the gun. 

The second gunshot triggered another series of screams. Bucky frantically shoved people aside, fought against the wave of body’s intent on leaving. He’d just stood there, staring, when Steve jumped out. The image of Steve dragging the guy down was burning in Bucky’s mind. That could be the last time he saw Steve breathing, god, this was his fault if something permanent happened. The crowd was thinning out, a man shoved past him and Bucky could see a pair of legs sticking out from under a table. 

Dropping to his knees, Bucky grabbed Steve’s arm and dragged him out forcefully. The ringing in Bucky’s ears was overwhelming the cascade of footsteps, slam of the door. And nothing else matter beyond Steve tensing up, rolling over to face him with a startled expression on his face. Eye’s bright, chest heaving, Steve grabbed at Bucky’s hands as Bucky pulled him up, nearly smacking his head on the underside of the table. 

“Are you okay?” Bucky said, twisting one hand free to run it along Steve’s chest, eyes wide and searching. Steve nodded jerkily, clutching at Bucky’s wrist. 

“Jesus, Steve” Bucky said, gripping the back of Steve’s neck, thumb brushing along Steve’s jaw. “You can’t do that” Bucky said earnestly, shoulders slumping once he finished searching for blood. 

“Sorry” Steve said breathily, eyes darting around. His heart was hammering in his head; Steve couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the past few minutes. The fight, if it could be called that, was too unreal, suddenly there and now gone. What happened wasn’t a blur; it was moments of frightening clarity followed by this silence. Bucky was there, had a hold of him and Steve was sure that without Bucky’s grip he would fade away from this place with the fight. 

The space around them was well lit by the yellow lights, oddly open, deserted, quiet. Most of the tables were still standing; some drinks were leaking their contents onto the floor. A few coats hung abandoned from the backs of chairs. Distantly sirens sounded. An upturned glass rolled off the bar, startling them with an isolated crack. 

“You boys okay?” the bartenders head poked up from behind the dark counter. Steve started at the voice, breath catching in his throat. Bucky hesitated, sliding his hand to Steve’s shoulder and squeezing lightly before answering. 

“Think so,” Bucky said “You?”

“Only thing hurting is my pocketbook,” the bartender grumbled, standing “Pulling a gun in my place – terribly bad for business”

“Yah” Bucky said, getting slowly to his feet. He’d seen plenty of bar fights, but they never cleared the building. Bucky reached out to give Steve a hand, but he was already halfway up, using the table for leverage. 

“Best you both leave before the police arrive.” The bartender said “We’ve got quite the force around here”

Bucky nodded. The police crackdown on arms was sparking tempers lately, witnesses were being treated with the same hostility as perpetrators. 

“Thanks” Bucky said. He made to follow Steve, who was nearly at the door. “Sorry about your place” 

“Not your fault” the bartender said with a shrug. “Be safe out there. No telling where that guy ran off to”

“Right” Bucky said, and he was out the door, hurrying to catch up with Steve. 

 

-

 

The walk back was quiet, Steve answering Bucky’s queries with ‘yes’, ‘no’, or ignoring him altogether. The wind had died and the air was a heavy damp pressure, promising rain. The sky rumbled faintly and Bucky felt his alarm steadily increase. Steve wasn’t hurt or bleeding, but he wouldn’t look up and respond to Bucky’s attempts at conversation. Whatever was eating away at Steve would have to wait until they got home. 

 

-

 

The door closed with a thud, Bucky checked the lock with a twist of his wrist. Steve stumbled over to the couch, sinking down and planting his head in his hands. Walking over to the table, Bucky flicked on the light. Their tiny lamp didn’t do much by way of illuminating their dingy apartment. Steve sunk back further into the threadbare cushions, unsubstantial weight folding the cheap stained fabric. 

Bucky stood, unsure where to be. He hardly ever felt out of place in their apartment, but then again, Steve rarely shut down after a fight. Bucky knew what to do with frustrated Steve, bleeding Steve, indignant Steve, but not this. Silent Steve was uncommon, happened once before, when they were 18 and Steve’s mom died. Bucky couldn’t think of what to say then either. The continued quiet was oppressive, pushing against Bucky’s skin and the cracks in the floor. Outside, rain started to fall. Droplets thrummed against the window in sheets. Cars rolled by, splashing through growing puddles. 

Steve listened to the rumble of thunder, rattling their thin apartment walls. His eyes were burning from staring at the same knot of wood on the floor, face pressing against his palms. Every useless moment was boiling corrosively inside of him. He couldn’t bring himself to articulate how he failed, why he hated himself so completely in this moment. Steve knew the loathing wouldn’t last, was present because of his proximity to the fear and disappointment. So he held on to the gut twisting, chest aching pain because he deserved to feel that way. 

Steve was aware of Bucky standing in the center of the room, shifting his weight in Steve’s peripheral. Wasn’t fair to Bucky, Steve thought, he brought this back here, to the apartment, their safe space. He hadn’t had time to walk it off, to suck it up and put on a different expression that he could hold together until the feeling of complete and utter ineptitude lessened, receded to a darker corner of his mind. Bucky deserved someone better. Someone who wasn’t broken. 

Gripping tightly to his head, Steve wondered if he couldn’t concentrated hard enough to think himself out of existence. All he wanted was to vanish, to not be stuck on the couch with all of his self-centered disgust and pathetic attempts to help when he couldn’t even keep the gun in his hands, the guy slapped him away like he was nothing, yanked the cold metal out of his grip and ran off with the crowd. 

“Steve?” 

Bucky had taken a few cautious steps forward, could see Steve’s fingers twisted in his hair were turning white with the force of his clenched muscles. Bucky didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t stand watching, so reached out, put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. Steve didn’t react, didn’t acknowledge the physical contact besides the slightest tensing under Bucky’s grip. Bucky crouched down in front of him, Steve kept his eyes averted. 

Bucky was right there, all Steve had to do was acknowledge him, look up and start the process all over again. Shake it off, push it back down and hope Bucky didn’t demand some kind of an explanation for his bizarre behavior. That was it. It was simple. Obvious. Clear. And he couldn’t do it. He was falling apart inside, hollowed out by his inability to do what had to be done. His chest was caving in, blood rushing in his ears, the incredible thickness in his skull was slowing his thoughts, delaying movement, trapping him effectively in this one spot. 

“Do you want to talk?” Bucky asked quietly.

Steve was afraid that if he opened his mouth, he would scream, and never stop screaming. He shook his head minutely, clamping his jaw shut. 

“Okay” Bucky said, rubbing small circles with his thumb on Steve’s back. “That’s okay”

Bucky wasn’t entirely sure what was going on in Steve’s head, but Steve didn’t seem up to the prospect of sharing. Instead of prying, Bucky sat back on his heels and decided staring at Steve, waiting for some kind of reaction, wasn’t going to help. 

Getting to his feet, Bucky found things to do as the evening wound down. He cleaned the dishes left in the sink from lunch, put on water to boil and made Steve a cup of hot chocolate. It was childish, and Bucky knew it, but it was the best he could come up with. Steve took the cup without comment, but sipped at it while Bucky dug around in his pack, trying to locate the change he threw in there after lunch. 

Bucky kept it up for an hour, folding clothes he’d tossed in his few drawers, going down the hall to take a shower as 9 o’clock crept up on them. When he returned, Steve had moved off the couch, was curled up on his side of the bed facing the wall, wearing pajama pants and a tank top. Bucky bit his lip, keeping a lid on his concern. Steve didn’t want to talk about it, they didn’t have to talk about it. Clicking off the light, Bucky slipped into bed beside Steve. He stared at the back of Steve’s head for a few minutes, then rested a single finger in between Steve’s narrow shoulder blades. 

When Steve didn’t flinch away, Bucky began tracing lazy designs down Steve’s spine, glancing his fingers over Steve’s ribs and up to the base of his neck. Tucked securely against himself, Steve’s face grew hot. Bucky was right there, touching him lightly and not expecting anything in return. Steve wanted to be alright, to roll over and apologize and fall asleep with his head on Bucky’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. But he wasn’t quite there yet. 

Bucky continued to draw outlines on Steve’s back until he heard Steve’s breathing even out. In the dark, Steve didn’t take up much space. Scooting forward gently, Bucky cuddled up to Steve, pulling the blanket over Steve’s skinny shoulders. Bucky fell asleep listening carefully, watchful and a little worried. 

 

-

 

The door to their apartment slammed open. Rain blew inside as Steve and Bucky jolted up. Framed in the doorway, a dark shape stepped over the threshold. The storm was raging in full force outside, water dumping from the sky in buckets. 

“What the hell?” Bucky was halfway out of bed, already on the offensive when the muzzle flashed, accompanied by a horrendous crack that tore through their tiny apartment. Steve gaped as Bucky staggered back, smacking into the wall. 

Red blossomed quickly, spreading across Bucky’s white undershirt as Bucky reached up to touch the growing stain. Steve scrambled off the bed, falling next to Bucky as he slid down to the floor. 

“Steve?” Bucky choked out, blood spilling out over his lips, eyes wide and confused. There was so much blood, Steve pressed his hands against Bucky’s chest and they were soaked immediately, sticky, hot liquid pumping out too fast for Steve to do anything about. Bucky made a weak sound, a wrecked little noise before his head tipped to the side, eyes glassy. 

“No, no please” Steve was crying now, he jerked away from Bucky’s body. The man at the door moved closer, was closing the distance between them. Steve could just make out his face – the man from the bar – but it couldn’t be that was impossible – and Bucky – Bucky was gone – there was blood everywhere –

The man raised the gun, leveled it with Steve’s head, and pulled the trigger. A second clap of thunder–

 

-

 

“Steve!” Bucky yelled, grabbing for Steve’s shoulders. Bucky woke up when Steve made a serious attempt to shove him off the bed. Outside, a thunder clap ground down to a distant rumble. Lighting flashed again, briefly bringing everything in the room into sharp relief. Steve had backed up against the wall, gasping. 

Bucky sat up, keeping his movements slow. Now fully awake, Bucky could see Steve was terrified, chest heaving, hands stretched out in front to keep Bucky from coming any closer. 

“Hey” Bucky said, loud enough to be heard over the hammering rain. “It’s just me”

Steve’s hands were unsteady, shaking. Steve blinked, trying to bring Bucky into focus. 

“B – Bucky?” Steve’s voice was rough, eyes gleaming in the half dark. 

“Yeah” Bucky said, inching closer as Steve lowered his hands “I’m right here” Bucky ran a hand up Steve’s arm, rubbing up and down as Steve squinted at him, eyebrows pinched. 

“But–” Steve’s eyes widened again, looking to the door, searching the room for a threat that wasn’t there. “But…” 

“Hey” Bucky said, drawing Steve’s attention back “You’re okay. I’m right here” 

That was it. Steve couldn’t take anymore. The dream was vivid and fresh and invading his mind with Bucky dead, Bucky bloody, Bucky not breathing. But Bucky wasn’t dead, he was right there. And that was everything. 

Steve practically threw himself at Bucky, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck and dissolving into tears. Startled, Bucky adjusted so they weren’t in danger of tipping of the bed and carefully put his arms around Steve. The smaller man was trembling violently as Bucky hugged him tighter, whispered assurances in his ear – I’m here, you’re okay, it was just a dream, you’re okay. 

Bucky held onto Steve as he cried himself out, until Steve’s breathing wasn’t desperate and broken on his shoulder. As Steve wound down Bucky loosened his grip, keeping Steve close and trying to catch his watery gaze. Lightning flashed again, blinding, followed by another resounding clap of thunder. Steve squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Hey” Bucky said softly. 

Steve cracked his eyes open, finally glanced up and locked eyes with Bucky. Steve looked exhausted; face flushed with dark circles under his eyes. 

“Hey” Steve said back, voice small. “I’m, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” his voice caught. Bucky shushed him, pushing a hand through Steve’s hair. 

“You don’t have to be sorry” Bucky said. 

“Right, okay” Steve looked a little lost. 

“Honest” Bucky said, echoing one of Steve’s favorite phrases. “Just…don’t worry about this kinda stuff. I can handle this” Bucky quirked his mouth to the side, approximating a smile. “I…I love you Steve”

Steve stared. “You what?”

“Oh, you heard me” Bucky said, grinning, ducking his head. 

“I want to hear you say it again” Steve was sitting up, drinking in Bucky. The larger man’s hair was tousled, eyelashes dark smudges against his cheeks. The rain continued to pour, streaking down the glass and casting crazy shadows when another bolt split the cloud filled night sky. 

“So that’s how this is gonna be” Bucky teased, shy. Still riding a high from the unexpected wake up, Bucky couldn’t quite believe it himself. Now that the words were out there – he actually said it – Bucky was surprised to find exactly how much he meant that. He’d been afraid it would somehow cheapen their moments, or sound fake coming out of his mouth. Bucky took a deep breath, tried it again; 

“I love you” 

Steve smiled back, hovering on the edge of disbelief and slightly concerned he’d fallen back asleep, that this was just a dream. Then Bucky was moving in, kissing him soundly, and Steve felt real enough to push back, to press back against Bucky’s lips. Steve carded his hands through Bucky’s hair as Bucky tilted his head, sucking on Steve’s lower lip. They traded breaths, Bucky slipping his hands up Steve’s undershirt, pressing against Steve’s hot skin. Steve laughed quietly, chest contracting under Bucky’s touch. Steve smirked against the corner of Bucky’s mouth. 

“What?” Bucky asked, moving back fractionally. 

“I love you too” Steve said. Stamping a simple, close lipped kiss on Bucky’s smile, Steve sighed contently. Slowly, the adrenaline was trickling down, drawing his eyelids closed. Steve could feel some of his worries prickling at the back of his mind, but they stayed put for now. What Bucky said, Steve already knew, but it sounded so good coming out of Bucky’s mouth, sounded new and better and tangible. Bucky started lying down on his back, pulling Steve with him.

They fell asleep, legs tangled, holding each other close as the storm raged outside, dozing off to the constant thrumming of raindrops beating down on the outside world.


End file.
